


Nursing Animosity or Registering Wrongs

by scoop-of-shirbert (Miss_Mortimer)



Series: Bartending!AU [4]
Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-06 21:37:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12826617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Mortimer/pseuds/scoop-of-shirbert
Summary: Gilbert Blythe is an aspiring doctor, with an overeager fan club, making ends meet by working as a bartender just off campus. Anne Shirley is a second year entry student, who's covering the cost of tuition with shifts at the same bar. The bar is not actually mentioned in this work, oops. This is a "sequel" to To Choose Another Guide, and occurs in the same universe as the rest of the series. Also known as "Anne Shirley is Passionate About Academics" and "Gilbert Blythe is Pathetically in Love with Anne Shirley, Again."





	Nursing Animosity or Registering Wrongs

**Author's Note:**

> Based on true events (I am still angry that someone took my book). 
> 
> Special thanks to bebethsas (tumblr) for helping with the concept. This has not been edited by a second party, so if you catch an error, please be nice enough to let me know (I will have inevitably missed something).
> 
> "Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs."
> 
> Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë

Anne Shirley is convinced that if she stares a moment longer at the screen, she will be tempted into violence. Correction: she is convinced that if she stares a moment longer at the screen, she will be tempted into violence _again._ The first hostile action was throwing her beloved, well-worn copy of _War and Peace_ at the wall. The second had been throwing her second favorite mug.

Whoever possessed the library’s one and only copy of _A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful_ , Edmund Burke’s seminal treatise on the aesthetic philosophy of the sublime, was going to die by her hands.

She had placed a recall request six days ago for the book. Six whole days, knowing full well that the library policy required the student, postgraduate or not, to return to book in five. And, it had not appeared!

The first day, Anne was inconvenienced. In all likelihood, the person holding the key to her analysis hadn’t seen the customary email reminder yet. Anne wanted to get this silly paper for her silly elective Art History course out of the way, so as to devote more time to the beautiful tome she was writing for her Victorian Literature seminar paper. As Diana reminded her, it wasn’t an urgent matter, yet.

On the second day, Anne was impatient, full stop. She wasn’t yet in desperate need of the text, so she could be forgiving. The book could be the final key to someone else’s paper, possibly even someone who actually cared about Victorian painting, so she’d allow them to enjoy it a day longer.

On the third day, Anne was annoyed. Surely the person knew they were impeding on someone else’s education? Surely, they understood the gravity of the situation? Apparently, they did not.

On the fourth day, Anne was suspicious. There must have been a mistake with her recall request. Or a conspiracy to prevent her from succeeding. Diana did not seem to agree, but Anne was convinced. Someone was out to destroy her.

On the fifth day, Anne was angry. This was personal, and it was going to personally affect her mood. Someone knew she wanted that book, and they were withholding it. Anne had several choice words on the subject, and Diana had the audacity to laugh at her!

Today, Anne is furious. She is enraged. She is indignant. She is vehement. She is bloodthirsty. She is a fiery ball of pent up aggression exploding into the atmosphere. She will not stand for this. _Yes, Diana, I am well aware that I’m sitting already._

In the ten minutes it takes her to walk to the library, Anne Shirley had an inconceivable, an uncountable number of opportunities to _let it go_. Instead, she allows her ferocity to build up inside of her. The sea of students part for her warpath, the sun hides itself behind the clouds from her rage— _Yes, Diana, I am taking liberties with the story_ —the world itself shrinks down to the pinhole of her vision.  Wagner’s ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ plays dramatically around her, and Anne Shirley is a woman on a mission. She marches up to the library assistance desk, after the customary interruption to pause and scan her card to get into the building, and the extra minute when the barcode wasn’t read on the first swipe.

The woman who greets her isn’t nervous enough. _Hello, how can I help you today?_

Anne hopes the fire in her voice covers up how out of breath she is from the commanding sprint—who knew being a vigilante for vengeance was so tiring? _Hello, I am here to inquire about a book I recalled six. days. ago. My student ID number is 160018269._ She adds a _Thank you_ on the end, to please the distant voice of Marilla reminding her that even warrior women have manners.

The woman doesn’t blink. Her smile remains plastered to her face. Anne wants to throw a book at it. There is some typing, and a quick bit of searching, and then she turns away from her computer to look at Anne again. _I’m sorry for the inconvenience. The book you were looking for was checked out on the account of another student, who is being fined accordingly. It was returned five minutes ago._

Anne takes a deep breath, and unclenches the fist she couldn’t remember clenching in the first place. _If it’s checked in, how long will I have to wait for it to be processed?_

The woman takes no pity on her. _Normally, the processing time is between two to three hours. We will email you to notify you when the book is ready to be received from the holds shelf. It will be filed under your last name._

Anne thanks the woman as politely as she can, and slinks upstairs to one of the couches in the silent section, to _patiently_ bide her time. It is exactly two hours and forty-five minutes before she receives the email.

It takes three minutes for Anne to open the email and pack her belongings. It takes two minutes for her to make her way over to the holds shelf, in its special section. Five minutes total.

When she arrives, there is no book. _A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful_ has evaded her once again. Anne looks up and down the length of the shelf. She walks around the entire section twice. Rage begins to build once more.

She turns as quickly as she can and races back to the desk. The librarian looks up from papers, likely to see a wild lunatic sprinting across the library. If fear finally creeps into her eyes then, all the better. Anne comes to a quick stop, slamming her hands down on the desk, manners cast aside. _My book wasn’t there. I have an email, saying it was going to be there, and it wasn’t._

 _Title, please._ The woman’s voice shakes a bit, and her hands hover the keyboard.

Anne is about ready to burst. _A. Philosophical. Enquiry. into. the. Origin. of. Our. Ideas. of. the. Sublime. and. Beautiful._ The entire library seemingly goes silent for the taping of keys that follows.

The woman slowly looks up, and the air thickens. Anne realizes she is holding her breath. _That book has already been checked out again. I’m sorry it’s unavailable._

 _There are certain moments that define us as people_ , Anne thinks later that afternoon _, and this was mine._

 _Who has my book? Tell me, please, I must have this book._ Anne stares down the woman with her best imitation of Marilla Cuthbert, aiming to kill.

The librarian shakes her head quickly, almost unperceivably, _I cannot disclose the name of the student, especially since I am afraid you will resort to violence. Miss Shirley, I can tell you this_ , her eyes flick back to the computer screen, _the book is now in the possession of a PhD candidate, who is not liable to return it for several months, as he is afforded a full year’s loan._

Anne moves to grab the computer screen. She reaches for it, but almost as if this hostility has been felt before, the gatekeeper behind the desk reaches in the same moment. Anne manages to turn the screen around, only to find that the window has been closed. She looks towards the woman’s face, only to be greeted once again by that unshakeable smile.

If Anne sulks out of the library, there is no one else to notice.

— — —

Gilbert Blythe rarely has reason to be in the main library. The medical library offers all of the books he’d normally need for his coursework. Yet, the medical library is also full of other medical students, many of whom are keen to bother him with questions.

The main library is comfortable. It’s routine to go and study there on weekends, and it helps him get into the right mind-set for serious work. He likes to have certain conditions, the same general seat (by a window on the silent floor, preferably on the east side that faces the courtyard), the same drink (black coffee with two sugars), and the same environment every time. He doesn’t need distractions.

Distractions come in the form of Anne Shirley hurrying between shelves. He catches a glimpse of red hair flying past, and if he had looked up one moment earlier, or one later, he might have missed it. Gilbert isn’t one to use serendipity likely, but coincidences don’t happen to the love-struck.

She’s not running, but she’s definitely moving faster than a normal person should, especially in the library. Without thinking, Gilbert puts down his pen and follows.

His much longer legs allow him to achieve a similar pace, and he tracks her bright braids to the service desk. It feels almost like stalking, especially when he’s hiding behind a pillar, but Gilbert can’t resist the temptation. His eyebrows shoot up when Anne slams her hands on the woman’s desk. As a former victim of the Shirley Rage, he can only sympathize with the woman.

It was probably creepy to follow her, and it’s definitely creepy to write down the name of the book she’s looking for when Anne so helpfully over-enunciates it.

 _A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful._ It’s scrawled on his wrist now, a permanent mark of his creepy behaviour.

Gilbert only stays long enough to watch Anne Shirley leave the library—he does have to get work done after all. She looks so dejected, and all he wants to do is abandon his work and comfort her.

 _Although_ , he thinks to himself, _my company wouldn’t be much company to her anyway._

— — —

 _Diana is being the opposite of helpful._ Anne feels incredibly guilty for even thinking it, and she’d certainly never tell her friend that, but in the corners of her mind it’s true. Her quest for the book that could save her essay, that would _make_ her essay was fruitless. Diana believes she should simply mind another book.

In truth, Anne knows it’s not about the book. _This is only a microcosm for my life_ : _forever doomed to not quite succeed._

Her essay, all 1,575 words of it—the maximum the word limit would allow, even with the conditional overage percentage—is merely good enough. Anne is swallowing the ‘good enough’ as a chaser for vodka.

Alcohol shouldn’t be the answer, _and yet, here we are again._ Diana is sweet, _so sweet, and considerate, but this is something I just want to stop talking about._ Anne feels suffocated in their booth at the bar, and it’s killing her.

She lets the night take over a little, not enough to lose consciousness, but enough to lose her regrets. Anne knows where she’ll end up, and tonight, she’s too tired to pretend otherwise.

For the first time, she’s still in mostly full control of herself when she heads to Gilbert’s. She even walks there, _to save money, not because I’m confident in this decision_. Lying to herself might make it easier.

For all of his faults, _and he has many_ , Gilbert doesn’t make her feel like such a failure. It’s something Anne isn’t sure she’ll ever be able to tell Diana, but sometimes, she still feels out of place amongst their friends. At least, in its own twisted way, when Anne shows up drunk at Gilbert’s door, she doesn’t have to be _good enough_.

She tries to remember how the events usually go, and curses her intoxicated memory for not being better. She opts for knocking, and hopes for the best.

— — —

Gilbert knows who it is before he even opens the door. Anyone else would have texted first, would have not even come on a Wednesday night. He puts down his book, as nonchalantly as possible. This routine is always an exercise in self-control. _I shouldn’t be enjoying this_.

Something is off. He swings open the door, ready to catch Anne as she bursts through into his apartment, but tonight she’d just standing there. He isn’t sure what’s wrong. _Maybe she’s still upset about the book?_

Gilbert opens the door wider, and steps a little to the side. Anne doesn’t look at him as she scurries past. _Tonight, she’s quiet… quieter than I’ve ever seen her._ He pushes the thought out of his head. They’re not exactly friends, even though he’d like to be, and she might stop talking to him altogether if he makes it awkward, _again_. She never responded to his last offer of a date, and at this point, he’s scared to ask.

For all the times he’s been host, he knows how to handle the situation. She’s usually not this sedated until right before she nods off, so he goes and gets the blanket that he _definitely doesn’t save just for Anne. That would be creepy behavior, and Gilbert Blythe is not a creep._

How Anne Shirley knows where his keeps his liquor is a mystery, but she’s grabbed a bottle of wine and parked herself on the couch when he gets back. She hasn’t quite moved to a full sprawl yet. Her eyes land on the quilt in his hand, and she dutifully reaches for it.

 _Put the bottle down first._ He reaches out a hand for it, and surprisingly, she relinquishes it. It’s cool to the touch, and practically empty. It takes a moment, but he recognizes it as one he’d left uncorked in the fridge. _At least she didn’t try to do that herself._

Gilbert hands her the quilt. She takes it gladly, and starts arranging herself on the couch, _in the normal place. No, don’t think like that. She shouldn’t have a normal sleeping position on your couch. You shouldn’t have a blanket for her._

He steps away and turns to switch off the light. As usual, he looks back at her one last time before he does, adding, _Goodnight Anne._

As he heads back off to his bedroom, he hears the quiet voice break the routine, _Thank you Gilbert._  


End file.
